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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27434938">The Almost Never</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirabach/pseuds/eirabach'>eirabach</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Thunderbirds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo, Canon Compliant, Distress Call, F/M, Goodbye, Pen and Ink Week 2020, Prompt Fic, Veneer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:22:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27434938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirabach/pseuds/eirabach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Penelope holds it together. That's her job.</p><p>[post SOS part 2 for day six of pen and ink week on tumblr and bad things happen bingo.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Penelope Creighton-Ward/Gordon Tracy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Almost Never</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompts used veneer, good bye and distress call.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>She holds it together. That's her <em>job</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She’s less than no use to anyone, otherwise, and Scott’s -- Scott’s too pale on the comms and his voice sounds thready and distant, but he’s<em> trying</em>. He’s trying for her, though he shouldn’t be. Though he shouldn’t<em> know</em>. But he is, and he does, and maybe she will examine that later. How the veneer has cracked, how she hasn’t kept her secrets anything like as well as she should have, but never mind. Never mind.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She can deal with that later. Damage control. Feelings swept under the carpet and never spoken of again because that’s what she <em>does</em>. Isn’t it?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>That’s all she’s ever known how to do.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Parker?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Don’t you worry, M’lady.” It’s all kind and soft and wrong under the roar of the VTOL, “He’ll be just fine, you’ll see.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He isn’t, of course, but that shouldn’t come as a shock. It’s <em>Gordon</em>, after all. It could hardly be <em>easy</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And Penelope doesn’t have Gordon’s years of experience in the deep, but she’s competent and capable enough to know that having a sea stack crush your ship is unlikely to end terribly <em>well</em>. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No, the shock comes afterwards. Afterwards, when her hands shake and her teeth chatter and Alan -- <em>Alan</em> for goodness sake -- is tasked with prising her hands from bloodied blond, wraps her in a silver blanket and plies her with over sweet tea. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He’ll be okay,” he tells her, this grown man with a little boy's face, and she tries to smile and nod because -- because it’s her <em>job</em>, this is her <em>job</em>, but Alan’s lip wobbles when he turns away, and as the alarms grow louder the engines scream.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She assumes it’s the engines.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No one tells her any different.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>---</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No one tells her anything at all.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She has no imaginative terror of hospitals, no deep rooted fear to be tempted into the open by the sharp stink of disinfectant. But the chairs are hard -- easy to clean -- and the vending machine buzzes as it dispenses cups of tepid brown water, and if she were imaginative -- if she were -- </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But she isn't, so never <em>mind</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Scott paces, still in his uniform, still in his helmet, the visor thrown back so he can bite at the skin of his knuckles and mutters invectives that the others pretend not to hear. Mutters promises to the universe that he will never keep -- too <em>good</em>, too <em>noble</em>, too <em>forgiving</em> -- and perhaps that's why Virgil keeps his gaze fixed on the door. Keeps his hands in fists and his shoulders too high and pretends not to hear<em> I'll kill them I'll kill them I'll kill them</em>. Maybe if he hears, he'll have to stop him. Lay one big, steady hand on Scott's shoulder and offer reassurances he can't possibly believe.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Penelope hears, of course. That's her job.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Penelope hears and Penelope plots and there must be a use for the connections she has. She must have a purpose beyond curling into this cold, hard chair and watching her own face morph in the reflection of her undrunk 'tea'. There has to be something she can do beyond this awful, interminable <em>waiting</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>John will help, of that she's utterly certain. He's always been aware of the bigger picture, of the dips and furrows the good guys have to explore sometimes for the benefit of all. John will turn a blind eye, a helpful AI -- and the world will be better off, won't it? Without them. Better, safer, brighter and yet -- oh. Oh so much worse without <em>him</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And she isn't imaginative, she isn't, but for a half second she sees herself at his bedside where he's pale and still and the machines lie silent. Where she never told him -- and now she never will.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Cold, leaden dread sits in her stomach, tightens round her chest, and goodness knows what she must look like because Alan looks like terror personified, pale and grey and trembling, but he still scooches his chair closer. Pats at her arm and says her name like he's worried. About <em>her</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Takes a deep breath.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Penelope -- you should know --"</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But then the door opens. The nurse hollow eyed but smiling and Scott sinks to his knees. Scott sinks to his knees and Penelope --</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Penelope holds it together.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Just.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
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